November Wednesday Writing Prompt – Mystery

For today’s Wednesday Writing Prompt, I chose the theme – Mystery. I’ve been feeling in a pretty mysterious mood lately, trying to plot out some short stories and I thought it would be fun to make this theme a continuation of the Writing Prompt from August 6 – Adventure. I tried to write a companion free write to that prompt and may just make it a continuing thing.

You know the drill, please feel free to add your own free write about today’s theme down in the comments section.

mystery3

Letter from H. R. to E.P. – 3.12.2009

(page partially torn) …and I don’t think I’m going to make it any further. It’ll already be a long trip, and I anticipate already having been on the road for at least ten days by the time I reach that point. Hopefully that’ll be enough.

Have you received the other half of the m. yet? My half has been so enlightening. And yes, I’m being vague on purpose. I still don’t trust your guy D, and in the off yet totally possible chance that he’s been playing you this whole time, I don’t want there to be too much in this letter for outside eyes. Where did you find him anyway? It doesn’t matter.

I’m still on the run. I plan on leaving for J. tomorrow, if I can get some sleep tonight. Every time I turn around I see them. Well, not really but that’s what it feels like. They almost shot me two weeks ago in that village just at the foot of that mountain we first saw pictures of in Utah. If you don’t know what village I’m talking about then never mind, I’m not going to spell it out. I’m still fairly close by and can’t risk that getting out.

Have you had time to actually think about what we’re doing yet? I have. Nights are pretty lonely when you can’t trust anyone, I’ve had plenty of time to think about it. I killed a man E.P. He wasn’t a good man, but he’s still dead. And for what? I mean, yes, I know for what; I’m just being introspective. For god damn riches that’s what. And for history. And that’s why you can’t regret this. I don’t.

So I’m going to stop writing now. I need to find a safe place to hole up and where I am right now (the beer taste like piss) isn’t someplace I want to spend the night. Just like we swore, I’ve told no one about any of this. I have to assume you haven’t either. Just D I guess, and that can’t be helped. I’ll see you soon E.P. Or I’ll die tr… (page torn)

October Wednesday Writing Prompt

Happy Wednesday! Welcome to October’s Wednesday Writing Prompt! Today’s theme for the prompt is The Unknown. And it’s inspired by the picture below from photographer Chris Kaan (be sure to check out his site). I know this is a pretty vague theme. What does it even mean? I just found myself looking at the shoe in the middle of the road, thinking of 101 questions about why it was there, who lost it, when, how. And I’ll never know, sitting here at my desk. It is one of those things that will exist only through speculation and never in certainty. I was inspired to write the below poem and hope you too are inspired to speculate on the Unknown today, either based on Chris’ picture or anything else. As always, feel free to write something down in the comments section. And come back next month for November’s  writing prompt.

 

dscn0658

caught in the unknown

there is a shoe in the middle

of the road

half way between the

don’t walk signs

fixed on either corner

 

i don’t know if someone lost

this brown shoe,

walking across the

intersection, trying to avoid

perhaps, a pigeon walking back

the other way

 

or if it fell off a foot

so enamored with someone on the

other side

they ran right out of it

to lose themselves in an embrace

 

or if someone is planning on

coming back

hoping to find it waiting there

right where they left it

hopping back to that spot

on one foot

 

is this shoe lost

caught in mid scream

loneliness etched across its laces

or free from a life of

walking for someone else

measuring its next steps

 

in the middle of a two lane

everyday

street

Wednesday Writing Prompt – Expectation

For today’s Wednesday Writing Prompt, I chose the theme of – Expectation. We’ve all been there, hoping and waiting for something and feeling like it would never happen. Agonizing over a decision, convinced of all possibilities except for the most likely one. Expectation. It is a source of anxiety and hope; it can be a feeling of great happiness or one of great dread. The picture below really captures the theme for me and I hope it inspires you to jot down a free write and share down in the comments section. My contribution is below. (Picture by cool artist Eric Gooch.)

expectation

“Henry looked at the phone sitting beside his bed and sighed. All he had to do was pick it up and dial. But for some reason his arms didn’t want to leave his side. They felt like they were weighed down, tied to his hips. But it was silly really. All he had to do was pick up the phone. Move his arm up in a slow arc and pick up the damned thing. Then dial. Then wait for the other end to click and then? Well now that was interesting. Then what? Talk? About what? Would she have something to talk about? Didn’t you wait to call someone until you had something interesting to say? He didn’t remember how phone calls worked suddenly. Just pick up the phone, he thought to himself. Let the rest figure itself out. So he did, he picked it up. And he dialed. He’d memorized her number, it was running through his head all day, ever since he had made the mental decision to make the call. It rang. He waited. A part of him, not even a small part, probably the main part, wished she didn’t pick up. Calling had been enough. If she didn’t pick up he could still relish the fact that he had made the effort. It rang some more. Seconds began to drag out, like watching the hands of a clock moving slow and deliberatly around its face. More ringing. And then she picked up.”

Wednesday Writing Prompt – Memory

For today’s Wednesday Writing Prompt, I chose the theme of – Memory. It somehow felt appropriate in light of current events; people we’ve lost, better times we’ve had, lives lived in peace and without fear of violence. Memory. The safe place we hopefully all have access to when we want to relive better days, or just need access to old lessons in those times we forget them. Below is my free write based on today’s theme and picture. As usual, please feel free to add your own writing in the comments section below. I look forward to reading them 🙂

  “And then we just danced all night. I must have stepped on her poor feet ten or twelve times and she never once asked to go sit down. She was relentless. She knew if we went and sat, she’d have a time getting me back on that dance floor.”

     Frank nodded.

     “When did you know she was the one?” He asked.

     “Oh, much earlier.” Walter said.

     “Earlier? Wasn’t that your first date?” Frank asked him.

     “Yes, sure. But I had noticed her months before. She was so beautiful and always laughing when I saw her with her friends. It was impossible not to fall in love with her. I knew I had to marry her and that dance was when she knew she had to marry me. Or I like to think so.”

    “Grandma always liked to laugh huh?”

     Walter sat in silence for a few moments.

     “Yes. She had laughter in her heart as they say. She’d laugh with you and at you at the same time.” Walter laughed.

     “Do you ever wonder what life would have been like, if you two had never gone to that dance?”

     “No. Never. It was meant to be. There would have been no other life. I would have ceased to exist.”

      The small tape recorder clicked to a stop. Frank stood up, opened it up and flipped the tape around, hitting record again.

     “Ok, ok. So. Ccan you tell me about the war?”

Wednesday Writing Prompt – Adventure

Today’s theme for the Wednesday Writing Prompt is: Adventure. Adventure can be all around us. It can be the kind you find traversing the dust filled streets of a desert village looking for a lost relic, or the kind you find randomly on your walk to the corner store. I was expecting to use a picture that showed someone in the act of some grand adventure, either sky diving or climbing a cliff or running with bulls. What I used instead, I think, captures that unknown aspect of finding adventure anywhere. I hope you agree. As always, my free write contribution is below. Feel free to write something and post it in the comments section.

Adventure-Games

Henry stopped to catch his breath under the tan awning of the butcher shop. He hoped it was a butcher, with the skinned goats hanging from an iron bar above his head. It didn’t matter, he wouldn’t be lingering for long. Just long enough to scan the street behind him and choose a direction to run. They had been chasing him for over an hour, always finding him when he ducked into an alley or open door. He had crisscrossed the narrow avenues for miles and yet, whenever he stopped to check, they had been behind him. Hands covering their eyes from the sun and scanning over the heads of street vendors for the tall man with sun glasses. And you really did need sun glasses here, the light seemed to reflect off every surface and find its way into your eyes to blind. He heard a shot. When had they begun shooting? Then another. He darted from his spot next to a hanging goat, knocking over a woven basket that held a collection of hooves. A high, pained scream rang out behind him but he kept running. Had it been worth it? Stealing the old map? Killing one of it’s guards in the process? Maybe not now, not yet. But if he ever made it out this damn village and away from the gun shots it would be. It would be worth more than he was.

Special Wednesday Writing Prompt – Thursday Edition!

Today, on this special “Thursday Edition!” of the Wednesday Writing Prompt, I thought I would begin including a theme to go with the writing prompt image. I thought, maybe that’ll help inspire some creative outbursts. So, today’s theme is:Mysterious. I thought of this after I saw an add for psychic readings which offered to “unlock the mysteries of the universe” and I thought that was such a grand and ambitious promise, it HAS to be real. No one would claim to unlock the mysteries of the universe if they couldn’t deliver. Right? Anyway, I then found this picture and thought it fit the theme nicely. My offering is below. I look forward to reading your contributions in the comments section.

 mysterious_forest-t2

Dora, short for Pandora but you didn’t dare call her by that name when she was within earshot, put on her make-up in front of the polished mirror she kept in the back room; sequins rained down from the antique bordering she meticulously cleaned every morning. She wouldn’t say that she was a fake. No. She was more of a performer. It was a dance, the way she thought about it, working those people who came to her shop off the street looking to get their palms read. What she was doing wasn’t fake. Perhaps not as authentic as her customers thought, but it was a real show. Real concentration on her face as she took a person’s hands into her own and closed her eyes, trying to see into that person’s soul. She had to believe it. In those moments when someone was sitting across from her, she had to believe in what she was doing. It wouldn’t work otherwise. No, she wasn’t a fake. She was a real faux-psychic. And she didn’t see it any other way.

 

Wednesday Writing Prompt – Green

Welcome to another Wednesday Writing Prompt, hoping to inspire some spur of the moment writing from one and all 🙂 I’m not sure where my attempt came from, its kind of random but it was the first thing that came to my head so I hope you enjoy!

Green

“I walked until my feet hurt. So I stopped and leaned against one of the trees, looking out into the sea of grass in front of me. It was so expansive, it seemed to go on until my eyes got tired of finding the horizon through the haze. And it was all so green. I’d never seen so much green in my life. Some green but not, this. When I first got here, I ended up somewhere in the city, surrounded by brick and concrete, stone and dirt, but not the kind of dirt here. The kind that smelled like fresh rain. Damn. I don’t have this where I come from. Don’t get to just walk until happy exhaustion takes over and I need to stop. I left that city so fast, just picked a direction and went. And it was hard going at first, my legs didn’t see to work the way they should. But now I walk just fine, left right, left right. The whole deal. And now here I am standing around, waxing poetic to some trees, a thick wall of green. So much green. And I don’t even miss home anymore. I am home. Earth.”

Wednesday Writing Prompt – Impact by Yong

Here is another gem by concept artist Yong. Go and visit his site if you haven’t already because his work is pretty great.

Hope you enjoy my silly offering below. And as always, add your own short fiction in the comments.

“He just stepped out from behind a building, like someone does when they step out from behind a tree to try and surprise you. He stepped out, taking a few steps in to mid-town before he just stopped. Dude was as tall as a three story building and I don’t know how no one saw him hiding there, behind that skyscraper.  Just…hanging. We didn’t know what he wanted, if he even wanted anything. He was just standing there; cars trying not to crash into his giant legs. Everything stopped because, you know, he’s a giant fucking robot. You have to stop. I mean it’s New York and all but even we have our limits. Some homeless dude peeing on a cab? You keep walking. Santa Clause drinking sake with Elmo on a corner in Times Square? You keep walking. But a robot big enough pick up city buses like drum sticks? A robot with a cane, just loitering on 34th street? Shit, you stop and see what he’s going to do next. Some folks ran, sure, but…well most people just whipped out their phones and snapped Instagram photos. I didn’t even realize how many of my friends were there until I saw all their Facebook posts. Giant-fucking-robot was trending that afternoon on Twitter. And I mean he just stood there! For like half an hour. Cops were taping off the area, helicopters were keeping their distance but you could hear them in the air. He was just standing there, doing his own thing, being his own man, leaning on his cane like that old man who lives on your block, and doesn’t care about anything.

So yeah, when the dinosaur rolled up, I guess I was rooting for the robot. Why wouldn’t I?”

Wednesday Writing Prompt – Rock Hand by Yong

Two weeks ago I posted the first of what I hope to be a regular thing for dmosmusings, a Wednesday Writing Prompt. If you haven’t already, check out JD Lee’s offering which I thought was pretty cool. This week I turned to the concept artist Yong, and his piece simply titled “Hand Rock”. I think I’m going to go back to Yong for inspiration since his work is, in a word, great. So have fun, and post anything that comes to you down in the comments section. My attempt is below.

Hand Rock by Yong @ seobibaby.blog.me

http://seobibaby.blog.me/40189676330

“Yes, in the land of Lightbringer, the giants once roamed freely, ruling alongside the god Walker…”

“A God walker?” he asked, not really paying attention. He kept one eye on the old sailor in front of him, and another on the door leading below deck.

“No, the God, Walker. Walker Shin-Ra, the Lightbringer himself. He was born mortal like you and me it is said. But he will die a God.” The old sailor adjusted the boom, changing the direction of the sail.

“I don’t understand, your god, this Walker. He’s dead? Your gods can die?”

“Well. Gods can die aye, the old ones who took the form of men and walked amongst them, enlightening them, aiding them in times of trouble. They lived their lives and died when they were no longer needed. It is the way of all things.”

“So um, these giants, they ruled with one of your old gods, a guy named Walker. Why was he called that?” he was content on keeping the sailor distracted for the time being. There was enough gold below, on its way to the temple, that a little patience wouldn’t hurt. And the three priests who were blessing the small fortune wouldn’t be back above-deck for some time. So he kept talking, placing a hand on the knife inside his coat.

“He is called Walker because that is how he came to know his followers. He walked beside them, shared their sadness, rejoiced in their joy. His reach extended to all who believed in him. He offered protection from harm, and help in times of hardship. Asking for nothing but faith and belief in his teachings.”

“Which were?”

“Justice.” The old sailor stared off into the horizon, his faith in his God strong. Walker’s reach as long now as ever. He had always protected his people from harm.

Wednesday Writing Prompt

This is a new thing I’m trying where I post a picture and invite you to write some micro fiction inspired by it. Hopefully we can have some fun and share each other’s ideas down in the comments section. This picture is one I’ve used on the site in the past but I was drawn to it when trying to find something good for this first “Wednesday Writing Prompt” post. They do something like this on io9.com and I’ve always enjoyed what people come up with, how the same picture can mean different things to different people.

Cafe

“The bus-stop offered no respite from the sun. And it was hot. Hard plastic seats clung to exposed thighs when you sat and the next bus wasn’t scheduled to come for another fifteen minutes. How he was supposed to wait under the pealing paint of the bus stop sign, he didn’t know. Sweat snaked its way down his sun burnt cheek, the sleepy town was just waking up for the day and he felt like an intruder in the stone lined street. His stomach growled, and he grabbed at it sullenly. Food. He remembered seeing a small café around the corner from the bus stop that was just opening its shutters as he was walking by, bag in hand and he made his way down the sidewalk towards it, keeping an eye on the street in case he spotted the bus and its dark exhaust coming down the road. “Ay mijo, you look tired. Come inside, have some cold tea y un pastel” He didn’t see her before she spoke, the tiny woman with gold capped teeth and a tight knot of grey hair. But before he could answer she was pulling him into the just opened café and seating him at a table facing the street. The air was fresh and cool, ceiling fans spun with rhythmic precision above him and a cat stretched lazily on a nearby table. As the bus eventually rumbled by, spewing black smoke in its wake, he sipped his second iced-tea and began on the cherry pastel in front of him. The day was suddenly full of possibility, and he would meet it with a full belly.”